


Time and Time Again

by Kiiyoshi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Groundhog Day, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 19:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8026717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiiyoshi/pseuds/Kiiyoshi
Summary: Reset. Reset. Reset. AU where Kuroko’s a time-traveler. [old fic]





	Time and Time Again

The first time they meet, Kuroko’s alone within Seirin’s gym, practicing well into the evening. It’s like the old days again, he thinks, when life was much simpler and a game (though he knows he never saw it as just that) was a game rather than a never-ending struggle between what he wants, and what will come.

He reveals himself then, and Kuroko thinks he’s determined to keep him from drowning in his own subconscious. He’s like that, the phantom reminds himself, always insisting that he carry more weight than he deserved to languish under, and Kuroko can’t help but admire his benign destructiveness. 

It’s not long before they’re sitting on the same bench, cheering when they win their first game of the season. It’s not long at all, especially when he thinks back on it now. He remembers the weight of his palm, heavy enough to crush him into the ground… But maybe, he thinks, maybe he just imagines it.

It becomes a habit of Seirin’s to celebrate afterwards. Their retentive coach sends Kuroko to pick something up—he can’t remember what anymore, it must’ve been unimportant—but he gently sits him down and pushes his shoulders back with those oversized hands of his, unyielding until Kuroko’s lying flat on his back. (You’ve been working hard, he says, I’ll take care of it.) Kuroko protests out of habit, but he can’t bring himself to stop him from walking out that door.

(He should’ve.)

He doesn’t see it happen that time. He’s asleep when the coach rips the air with her sobs, their captain’s knuckles bleeding. He eyes the clock and finds that three hours have passed and they remain one person short. He doesn’t have to wonder when she grabs him by the collar, shaking him but blaming no one but herself.

No one’s the same after that—of course they aren’t, and Kuroko thinks it’s much too soon. He keeps walking… walking past empty words that preached memory, empty games they played in memoriam. It’s much too soon, he thinks again, and he walks… walks until he’s passed everything and nothing at the same time.

-x-X-x- 

The second time they meet for the first time is on the subway. He notices him staring, standing with a single crutch beneath his left arm (he gave up his seat a couple minutes ago for a kindly old lady) while his free hand clutches one of the bars that hung overhead. He slouches a little so he doesn’t bump his head against the roof of the train, and Kuroko can’t help but chuckle at how much he stood out like a sore thumb.

(Do I know you, he asks gently. Kuroko shakes his head, ashamed. )

It’s strange, he notes afterwards, strange how easily he singled him out from the crowd. It’s the first time his presence ever outshone anybody else's.

They meet again not long after that when he rejoins the team. Kuroko doesn’t correct him when he says how strange of a coincidence it is. He asks why he didn’t mention it earlier and Kuroko figures the other happens to be more curious this time around.

(They sit on the same bench again, and Kuroko can’t help but lean into him. He doesn’t question it, and they’re both silent when their team claims the last basket.)

He doesn’t let him leave the gym alone that evening, but relents when he insists that he follow.

They walk side by side and Kuroko allows him the luxury of threading his fingers through those unkempt strands. He doesn’t stop him and Kuroko liked that about the other. He was always so patient, so understanding in his foolishness as he stepped in front of him like he were his protector (it’s selfish, he dares to think). The green light sears through his vision, but Kuroko swears he sees a wavering glint in the other’s eyes before everything disappears.

(Kuroko never forgets the way his blood spills across the asphalt, red spreading and branching into the cracks like his namesake. He doesn’t see it happen, not when it occurred within a blink of an eye, but the warm stickiness that soaks into the knees of his track pants is enough.)

It’s too soon, he tells himself again, and so he keeps walking.

-x-X-x- 

Third time’s the charm, they say. It’s not important how they meet, but they’re in the locker room when he buries his head into the dip between his shoulders and it’s the most vulnerable Kuroko’s ever seen him. He’s heavy, he notes. Like always.

(You never take your eyes off me, the phantom says almost accusingly, even Kagami-kun loses track of me every so often.)

He doesn’t say anything at first and Kuroko turns around so he can bury a hand in that ashen brown mess. It’s softer than it looks, he can’t help but notice.

(Of course I don’t, he finally says, his voice muffled by the front of Kuroko’s jersey. I never will.)

(He should’ve known then.)

He insists they stay in the next evening. The others don’t protest, having worn themselves out an hour before. He hands him a water bottle and for a moment, Kuroko doesn’t know how to accept it. 

(Why are you crying? He asks, fingers brushing over his skin.)

They both realize the same thing at the same time and he quickly pulls his hand away. He pretends he doesn’t notice.

(Kuroko wipes his eyes. I’m just so happy I guess.)

They say time grows shorter as you get older. It’s not long before Kuroko’s standing on his tiptoes, craning his neck just so their lips could meet. It’s their first one, but for some reason (he knows why) it feels like goodbye.

(I’ll see you tomorrow, he says, and like that the smile falls from his face.)

He knows the promise is doomed from the start, so he walks ahead of him, crossing first and staring straight into the green light in his defiance. 

(He pushes him out of the way instead of pulling him like any other logical person. Kuroko sees it this time, awestruck at how quick his body was to give before metal and glass. He had always been so sturdy on the courts, unyielding, unwavering. Kuroko liked that about him.)

He holds his hand then, no one noticing or caring enough to pry him from the corpse on the gurney. He overhears an officer talking about a fool who had jumped to his death, seemingly reaching out for something invisible. Kuroko can’t help but agree. 

(It’s cruel, he thinks. Cruel but funny as he grasps his hand, lips still tingling.)

-x-X-x- 

He doesn’t know how many times it’s been, how many times he tried to scramble an egg rather than boil it before finding out he was out of milk.  However, it takes him five minutes longer to open his eyes this time around and he notices. 

He’s tired, he thinks. He’s been thinking a lot, thinking too much. He no longer entertains himself with thoughts no longer possible, him having searched every nook and cranny for a different fate. All roads lead to the same door, he realizes, even as the coiling in his gut pushes for him to get up and try again.

(He’s too heavy to move, so Kuroko closes his eyes instead.) 

He’s back where he started, between nothing and everything. All he has to do is walk, but even now, he couldn’t even do that much.

(Nothingness isn’t so bad, he thinks. It sure beats blood spraying through the air in a hundred and one different ways—)

However, it’s not long (it’s never long) before he feels a weight place itself across his eyes.

“How many times, Kuroko?” (He doesn’t know. He stopped counting.)

“How many times has it been?” (He feels fingers that aren’t his own gently comb through his hair and he wonders what compels him to reach up with both hands and grasp onto that warmth with desperation that spilled out his eyes in the form of tears.)

A soft chuckle sounds as that warmth caresses his face, for real this time as something else wipes the wetness from his eyes. 

“You’ve been working hard,” he says, “I’ll take care of it.”

-x-X-x- 

By some profound means, it was then that he realized he was never meant to live past that day. 

And Kiyoshi’s eyes never left him either, forever fixated on his back through space and time, taking his place and allowing his life to come to an end until Kuroko turned the hourglass back over.

(Over and over again. They’d been chasing each other in an endless circle, and fate had let them.)

-x-X-x- 

He croaks his name when he finally wakes, back flat against the bench where the other left him. He eyes the clock again, afraid of what he’ll find. It’s only been half an hour since he left, but he asks where Kiyoshi is anyway. 

“Kiyoshi?” Hyuuga asks, arching a brow. The others frown in mutual confusion and Kuroko feels his blood run cold.

That is, until Kiyoshi does him the favor of throwing his weight against his back to toss a bag of drinks forward. The captain snatches it out of the air before the coach can catch a mouthful of aluminum. 

The brunet giggles as he drapes his arms around Kuroko’s neck and shoulders, the smaller boy threatening to give way at any moment. Hyuuga looks disgusted as Kawahara tentatively claims a can of tea from the bag. The underclassmen follow suit before quietly skulking away. 

“Since when did you two get so cozy?”

Kiyoshi laughs and Kuroko feels the rumble of his throat with the back of his head. “Since whenever. It feels like it’s been forever, you know?”

He lets go of him then, letting him breathe freely, and the captain leaves without sparing them a few choice words.

Kiyoshi’s eyes are closed when Kuroko looks up at him, wanting to ask how many times it’s been, but a hand silences his unspoken words and the weight of his palm tells the phantom all he needed to know.

_(How many times?)_

He’s quiet and his smile never changes. Kuroko hated that part of him.

_(…What do you mean?)_

 


End file.
